


Can't Find a Reason

by dark_def (dedicatedfollower467)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: ... eventually - Freeform, Aftercare, Anal Sex, Angst, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bottom Dirk Strider, Dom/sub, Earth C (Homestuck), Explicit Sexual Content, Gender Dysphoria, Getting Back Together, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Masochism, Masturbation, Not Canon Compliant - The Homestuck Epilogues, Omorashi, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Second Person, Porn With Plot, Riding Crops, Sadism, Strap-Ons, Sub Drop, Top Jake English, Trans Character, Trans Dirk Strider, Trans Male Character, Under-negotiated Kink, Walking In On Someone, Watersports, it's mostly just poor communication early on it gets better, look characters CHANGE over TIME okay this porn has plot, somehow all three of those tags apply?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:15:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29372928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedicatedfollower467/pseuds/dark_def
Summary: Ten years after winning the game, Jake suggests that he and Dirk try dating again. Still nursing his childhood crush, Dirk leaps at the chance, but slowly discovers that he might have bit off more than he can chew. Eventually, he has to learn to give in and trust Jake.This is mostly kinky porn, with a bit of a plot threading everything together.
Relationships: Dirk Strider/Original Male Character(s), Jake English/Dirk Strider, Jake English/Dirk Strider/Original Character(s), Jake English/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> taking a break from my omegaverse epic to start some kinky dirkjake pwp with plot. chapter one is the set-up; chapter two is where the smut begins.
> 
> fair warning: there’s a lot of gender dysphoria and anxiety throughout this fic. i am not, myself, trans or ftm, so if i fuck up really bad please let me know? this is mostly based on explicit fics i've read written by trans men.
> 
> fic title is from "arms" by christina perri

The Consort Kingdom is holding some kind of grand retrospective on Sburb and sent you a polite invitation, which, since you’re kinda sorta their patron god-slash-king-slash-prince, you can’t actually decline.

Jake comes with you, of course. As crocodiles and salamanders burble appreciatively at the photos and speeches, the two of you stand together and whisper your opinions to each other, sipping at the free beverages you were offered. You’d never speak ill of a consort to their face, because you raised yourself right, but making fun of them behind their back is fair game.

They’ve got a fucking PowerPoint, for Christ’s sake.

Another photo of you and Jake flashes on a big screen projector — obviously taken by Roxy, a candid moment while the two of you talk, him in his little sleeveless bowtie getup with the painted-on shorts, you in your black tank top, holding your sword casually at your side.

With your other hand, you’re holding his, fingers interlaced.

Beside you in real life, Jake chuckles and leans in. “Ah, remember those days?” he says, fondly. “We rather botched dating, didn’t we?”

“Yup.” It’s still your biggest and worst mistake, the way things went down with him. You’re lucky he forgave you for all that shit, that he still wants to be your friend. Eventually, you’ll get over your crush, and you two can _just_ be buddies, can forget about all the rest of it hanging over your heads.

Granted, your attraction to him hasn’t gone away in the last ten years, but it’s _bound_ to burn itself out eventually.

Jake hums thoughtfully. “Fancy a do-over?” he says.

You almost choke on your orange soda. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, we were sixteen!” he says. “We’d never interacted with any other humans before, and we fucked ourselves over. There were a lot of parts I actually really _liked_ about dating you. And it’s been ten years, now, and we’ve both grown up a lot, and gotten more experience with people, and, well. If you’re interested, I’d like to try again.”

You turn to look up at him, his wide, open face and his big green eyes, so bright and _enthusiastic_ about the idea. He gives you a little grin, and your heart flutters in a way that would be super fucking embarrassing if anyone other than you could tell it was happening.

“Really?” The idea that he found _any_ part of that absolute clusterfuck likeable is amazing to you. You enjoyed it, but you’d been nursing your massive crush on him for years. You’re aware that he wasn’t anywhere near as attracted to you as you were to him, so god only knows what he could have found satisfying.

“Yes, really,” Jake says. Then, he pauses. “Although, since you _were_ technically the one to break it off, maybe I shouldn’t have…”

“No, it’s — I’d be down,” you say. “Let’s do it. Let’s fucking try dating again.”

The man of your fucking dreams, the guy you’ve had a crush on since you were a _literal child_ , was just the one to ask _you_ out. You genuinely cannot believe this is happening to you.

You still find it difficult to believe a week later, when you head over to his apartment to pick him up for your first date. And then a second. And then a third.

Before you know it, two months have gone by, and dating Jake is _working._ It’s pleasant, and fun, going on dinner dates and seeing god-awful consort movies together, getting to hold his hand as you walk down the street, pecking him on the cheek with a kiss when you leave him on his doorstep.

It’s also stressful as fuck, trying to keep his interest, coming up with date ideas and trying to reign yourself in, but you get to be with _Jake Fuckin’ English._ You can handle a little pressure, if it means getting everything you ever wanted.

Well, okay, not _everything._ But you came to terms with the fact that you’d never get _everything_ a long time ago, before you even dated him the first time around, so this is pretty much as good as it gets.

One night, after watching a roller derby, you walk him back to his doorstep like a gentleman, and this time, when you go to kiss his cheek, he tips his head to kiss you on the mouth, stooping slightly to meet your height. He cups your jaw with one hand and intertwines the fingers of his free hand with yours, squeezing. Your lips brush together and he opens his mouth ever so slightly, prompting you to do the same, and shivers of arousal run up and down your spine.

When he breaks off the kiss, Jake’s cheeks are slightly flushed. “Come on in?” he offers.

Your brain stutters to a halt.

Fuck. _Fuck._ Holy shit. That’s. _Yeah._

You nod instead of stuttering at him the way your mind is, and follow him into his house.

It’s obviously not the first time you’ve been here. Hell, it’s not even the first time you’ve been here in the past two months. But it feels different, important, because of the context.

“Coffee?” Jake says, directing you towards the living room and then heading into the kitchen. “Tea? Hot cocoa?”

“Cocoa’s good,” you say, moving to follow him into kitchen. “I can make it.”

Jake shakes his head. “Nonsense! I’m the host. Go sit down, I’ll be out in half a tick.”

So you sink down into one of Jake’s luxurious sofas, your stomach roiling. On the one hand, your boyfriend making you cocoa feels special, makes you feel wanted and cared for.

On the other hand, you can’t shake the nagging conviction that this is asking him to do too much, that you need to take some responsibility for yourself, that you can’t have nice things if you don’t fucking _earn_ them. You haven’t done anything to _deserve_ this, and Jake is going to lose interest if you don’t please him.

You remind yourself that the cocoa was his idea in the first place, and force yourself to relax.

A minute later he comes out with two mugs of steaming cocoa, and hands one to you. Then he settles down onto the sofa beside you with a smile.

You’re vibrating in place and the two of you make pleasant small talk, chatting about the roller derby and various other topics. You try not to show your nervous anticipation.

Jake _has_ to know the significance of “come up for a cup of coffee,” right? He’s watched enough media, he _must_ know what he’s doing. He _has_ to have been deliberately coming onto you, right? With that kiss? With the whole scenario? He _has_ to be planning on leading up to sex, right?

But what if he’s not? What if this is genuinely just a cup of hot cocoa cuz he didn’t want you to leave? What if he doesn’t want you to spend the night? What if bringing it up will make you look like a sex-hungry tool just using him for his body?

God, it’s a gorgeous body.

No, stop, fuck, _focus,_ Strider _._

Jake finishes his cocoa and sits back with a contented sigh, loudly smacking his lips, and this _has_ to be deliberate, it _must_ be, even Jake “Captain Oblivious” English must know what he’s doing.

You’re so turned on you think you’re starting to soak through your boxers, and so hyped up you can’t stop your leg from jiggling slightly. You hope he doesn’t notice. You set your own half-finished mug down, stomach bubbling with nerves.

Jake places a hand gently on your knee, and you feel like you’re on fire.

“So,” he says. “We should probably talk about sex.”

Oh, thank god, this _was_ going where you thought it was going.

“I’m in favor,” you say, trying for deadpan and not sure you quite managed it.

Jake laughs. “Same,” he says. “Glad we’re on the same page there.”

You also laugh, weakly, recognizing that he’s trying to break the tension, even though you’re still as keyed up as a chihuahua on espresso.

“So,” you say. “Were you thinking, like. Tonight?” Fuck you sound so hesitant and unsure, that isn’t how you want to sound when talking about shit like this.

Jake laughs, but shakes his head. “No, I just wanted to talk it over first, see if that was even something you wanted. I thought also maybe we could get tested together? I’ve always been really careful with my other partners, and I’m sure you have as well, but it never hurts to double check, you know?”

You stare at him, blankly.

Oh.

Oh god.

Jake has had sex.

Jake has had sex multiple times, with multiple other people.

Jake is also, apparently, under the _very mistaken_ impression that you have also had sex before with other people.

There is no _fucking_ way you’re telling him you’re still a virgin at 26, holy fuck.

“Oh,” you say. “Yeah, sure, that’s probably a good idea. When are you free next week?” You _can_ pass this off like you know exactly what you’re doing, and it seems to work, because you manage to schedule the screening visit with Jake no problem.

You’re still sitting there on the couch, after setting up an appointment, when Jake says, “I also wanted to talk about what we might want to do, our first time? I know some people like to be more spontaneous, but I like to plan things, and well. Knowing you, I thought you might, too.”

Right.

“Well, there’s… something I should probably tell you about,” you say, resisting the urge to fidget nervously.

You never told this to any of your friends. It never came up — it never needed to. The only two other people in the entire goddamn world who know are Dave, and your doctor.

“I’m trans.”

You almost cringe, waiting for the questions.

Jake’s eyebrows go up. “Oh. Okay.”

There’s a pause, in which you’re almost wondering if maybe this will be completely painless, if he’s not gonna say anything weird, when his eyes widen _hugely,_ and he says. “Oh. _Oh._ Oh, I’m an _asshole.”_

You blink, because that was 100% not the reaction you were expecting. “What?”

“When we were kids,” he says, squeezing your knee. “When I was an idiot and I used to “joke” about how if only you were a girl, we’d be perfect for each other? God, I can’t imagine how much that must have sucked for you.”

It did kinda suck. Hard. That’s not what you say, though.

“You didn’t know.”

“Still. I apologize.” Jake leans forward so he can look you in the eye. Well, in the shades. “It was a stupid thing to say, and I’m sorry I was such an ass back then.”

You swallow. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Is there anything I should know?” he asks. “Any places that are off-limits, or things I should or shouldn’t say?”

That’s… a surprisingly insightful question for him to ask.

Unfortunately, you don’t actually have a thoughtful answer.

You’re about to tell him anything goes, when something in the back of your brain thinks, _Wait. If you tell him “anything goes” then he might think you’re not trans enough. He might not think you’re a real man._

So you come up with something to say real quick, that seems to fit with how you think other trans guys are supposed to feel about sex and their bodies.

“Don’t touch my chest, not without my permission. And no penetration,” you say, even though you’ve kinda always liked the idea of getting dicked down (specifically, by Jake). “Not for me at least. I’ll do you with a strap, if you’re down for that.”

Jake nods, smiling brightly.

Well, now you’re gonna have to buy yourself a strap-on as soon as humanly possible.

“That’s everything?” Jake says. You nod, slightly afraid that what you said is both too demanding, and not demanding _enough_ to seem like you’re actually trans.

Jake smiles and curls an arm around your waist, leaning his head on your shoulder. “Glad we got that sorted,” he says. “I’m looking forward to this.”

You look at his absolutely gorgeous body, his rippling muscles, his taught, toned thighs.

“Yeah,” you say. “Me too.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake and Dirk have sex for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnd the smut (and angst) begins! I meant to have this up for Valentine's Day but *shrug* oh well.
> 
> Lotta gender dysphoria in this chapter. Words used for Dirk's anatomy include: dick, clit, cunt, tits, lips. As discussed in the previous chapter, a strap-on is used.

Jake messages you on a Friday morning.

GT: All my tests came back negative!  
GT: Did you get yours back yet?  
TT: Yeah, negative here, as well.  
GT: Well then.  
GT: Have any plans for tonight mr strider?

Suddenly you are buzzing with excitement and nerves.

TT: Not particularly.  
TT: Did you have something in mind?  
GT: They just opened up that cute little italian bistro a block from you right?  
GT: How do you feel about dinner out and then a nice night in?  
TT: Sounds great.

The little Italian bistro is a pretty casual place, really, but there’s no _way_ you’re not dressing up for this date. Then again, you don’t want to look out of place, do you?

You end up going with a black collared shirt, with the top two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up casually to just below your elbows, along with a pair of smart gray slacks and your _good_ black Vans. To add just that little bit of class, you forgo the fingerless gloves and swap them out instead for a chunky leather wristwatch.

When you pick Jake up, he’s wearing an outfit not too different from your own; his pants are black, his shirt a deep green that brings out his eyes, and he’s wearing a really nice pair of leather boots. He looks _gorgeous,_ so of course you lean up to kiss him.

It’s a deeper, more involved kiss than you were expecting, Jake half-opening his mouth to you. When you break away, your lips are still tingling, and energy zips up and down your spine, alternating between chills and heat. You’re going to get to fuck Jake English tonight.

Your mind gets stuck on that all throughout dinner, and you’re so distracted and keyed-up you mostly end up pushing your food around, instead of eating it. Jake initiates a game of footsie under the table, and you feel ridiculous, like you’re sixteen again, tapping your shoes against his.

You’re tense with anticipation, and also terrified, and also elated.

When your server comes around again and asks if you’d like dessert, Jake shakes his head.

“No, I think we’ll have dessert at home,” he says, looking at you and raising his eyebrows meaningfully.

You _desperately_ hope you’re not blushing obviously, although you suspect you might be, despite your best efforts at maintaining a casual air.

You and Jake have your usual meaningless argument about who gets to pick up the check— _You got it last time, Dirk, it’s my turn tonight— Last time was french fries at a McDonald’s, Jake that doesn’t count—_ and in the end, he concedes and lets you pay for the meal. 

You hold hands as you walk back to your apartment, and you swear you can _feel_ the eagerness in the air like a dense fog.

Jake’s been over to your apartment before, a million times, of course he has. And yet, there’s something so _intense_ about watching him settle down on your couch, looking right at home as he pops open another button on his shirt, revealing a small peek at his dark, curly chest hair. Your mouth starts to water, and you try not to lick your lips too obviously.

“Can I get you anything?” you ask, still standing by the doorway. “Water? Coffee? Tea?”

Jake grins. “A kiss would be nice.”

So you cross the room to stand in front of him, and then lean down to kiss him, careful to align your faces so his glasses and your shades don’t bump into each other. As your lips touch, he wraps his hands around your waist and quickly coaxes you into sitting on his lap, your knees landing to either side of his thighs.

When you were sixteen, you used to be the taller of the two of you. Not by much, just an inch or so, and you were also way, way skinnier, a fucking beanpole of a boy, but you had a bit of a height advantage. You used to bend down to kiss him, if only slightly.

Now, ten years later, you’re still the skinny one, but Jake has a full head on you, and even sitting on his lap, you have to tilt your face up a bit to kiss him. His shoulders feel like they’re _twice_ the width of yours, and straddling his broad, muscled thighs makes you feel tiny and almost delicate.

On the one hand, your boyfriend being a huge bear is really fucking hot.

On the other hand, feeling small and dainty and fragile yourself is… not _super_ great, and you’d really rather not dwell on it.

So you kneel up, so that you’re taller than him, grab his face with both hands, and kiss him _hard._

You open your mouth, coaxing him to open his own, pressing your lips together and feeling like you can just _drink_ him in. The lips are one of the most sensitive parts of a human’s body, have more nerve endings than practically anything else, and you feel shivers of pleasure just from pursing your lips against his, finding a kind of rhythm in the way you move closer together and further apart, going from full on contact with just a _hint_ of teeth and tongue, to the lightest, most delicate brushing of skin against skin.

Jake sighs contentedly into your mouth— not quite a moan, but satisfied and full-sounding, like he’s just finished a large, fantastic meal.

It’s a sound that goes _straight_ to your dick.

He rubs both thumbs across your hips, slipping under the fabric of your clothing to tease the skin over your iliac crest, and you shiver and gasp in response. You can already feel yourself growing wet at his touch.

You kiss him again and press your bodies together, chest to chest. His hands trail down to squeeze your ass, and once again you shiver.

When you break away this time, both of you are panting, slightly. Behind his glasses, Jake’s eyes are hazy and unfocused for a second, before he retrains them on your face. A lazy smile spreads across his features, and he leans up to steal a quick kiss.

You could make out with him like this all night long; but also, you kinda wanna get to the main event.

“Bedroom?” you ask-slash-offer, pulling back a bit, although you’re unable to resist rubbing your thumb over the angle of his jaw, his skin smooth and soft as a baby’s.

Jake licks his lips. “Yeah,” he says. “Good idea.”

You scramble off his lap, and offer him your hand. He takes it as he stands, and then you’re leading him down the short hallway to your bedroom, which is much, much cleaner than it usually is. You had all day to prepare, after all.

The moment just after you get inside your bedroom and Jake kicks the door shut is terribly awkward. You suddenly feel your face heat up, and your palms get sweaty, because holy fuck, you’re _here_ , in the _bedroom_ , with your _boyfriend_ , and you have no clue what you’re actually doing.

You stand there, staring at the clean sheets on your bed, paralyzed by possibility and the idea of Jake’s expectations for tonight.

After a moment that seems to stretch into eternity as you stand there stuck in your indecision, Jake squeezes your hand and then gently tugs you to turn around.

“Hey,” he says, cupping your cheek with a free hand. “You good?”

You shake yourself, as though trying to scare off an annoying insect. “Yeah,” you say. “There’s just so many options.”

Jake laughs, full-throated and happy. “There certainly are,” he says. “Maybe one thing at a time?”

And then he reaches up and starts to undo the rest of the buttons on his shirt.

You watch avidly as more and more skin is revealed— again, it’s not the first time you’ve seen him shirtless, but there’s something unbearably erotic about the way his muscles flex under his skin, the skillful dexterity of his broad hands as he takes everything off. He stretches and flexes deliberately, casually slinging the shirt to the floor.

You step forward, unable to resist any longer, and run your hands up his body, from the edge of his waistband, all the way up to his pectorals. You spread your fingers through the curls of chest hair, and scratch him lightly with your fingernails.

Jake’s hands settle on your waist, and then swiftly untucks your shirt. He slides his own palms up your sides until he’s cupping your shoulders. “You too?” he suggests.

You feel silly, awkward, clumsy, when you pull away from him and frantically fiddle with your buttons, cursing yourself for picking clothing that’s so difficult to remove. When you get one hand trapped in a sleeve, slipping it off, you’re certain it’s as far from sexy as it’s possible to get, and you start blushing with embarrassment _again._

Eventually you get the damn thing off, and when you turn back to Jake, he leans in to kiss you, hard and heated. He slips his tongue between your lips, deliberately licking at the roof of your mouth.

“Fuck,” you breathe, when the kiss breaks.

“Mm-hmm,” Jake hums against your skin, presses a kiss to the edge of your mouth, and then to your jawline, and then slowly trails down your neck, wet, slow kisses with lots and lots of tongue.

You slide your hands over his ass and squeeze gently, feeling a delighted thrill from your core when Jake moans in appreciation. You slip your fingers around his waistband, and slowly find your way to his fly.

“Pants?” you say.

Jake nibbles at your sternocleidomastoid, and you stutter out a gasp of delight at the delicate sensation of teeth. Fuck, you want him to bite down _hard_ , to suck a bruising hickey right there, high on your neck, for the pain and pleasure to mingle on your skin.

No, actually, you don’t, because it would be really annoying to try to cover up. (But also you kinda really do.)

He pulls back long before he’s left a bruise, and smiles at you. “Pants,” he agrees, and drops to his knees.

Your confusion turns to instant, heated arousal when his hands find the waistband of your pants, and he begins to peel your slacks down your legs, kissing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs as it is revealed to him.

God, you’re so wet you’re certain he must be able to smell it, down there, so close to your crotch, and then he leans in and mouths over the fabric of your boxers, just pressing his tongue against the lips of your cunt, and you want to scream.

You’ve almost forgotten that this started out with taking your pants off, until they’re down around your ankles and Jake taps your calves one at a time, indicating that you should step out of them. You do, and then you have to kind of grab his head for support as he proceeds to then remove your socks.

Then you’re standing there, in just your binder and boxers, staring down at him, kneeling between your legs and still wearing his pants, and you suddenly feel like you’ve been making _him_ do all the work, and a bolt of guilt runs through you.

“Here,” you say. “Why don’t you get your pants off and get on the bed and I’ll get my strap?”

He nods, and stands, and you turn away from him, heading over to the dresser drawer where you’ve stashed your sex toys. You should probably grab the lube and condoms while you’re there.

You try not to think too hard as you shuck your underwear and put on the harness, deliberately choosing not to look at Jake behind you. It takes you a little while, but you’re not dumb enough to let this be the first time you’ve ever worn the thing, so you at least know how it fits and feels against your skin.

The answer to that is mostly “awkward,” but since you chose a somewhat realistic-looking dildo similar in color to your own skin, it’s also kinda nice, looking down between your legs and seeing a penis sticking out.

The choice to remove your binder is an obvious one, but also difficult, and as you pull it off, you can’t help but feel a little self-conscious as your tits swing free. They’re not _huge—_ hell, they’re actually pretty small— and most of the time they don’t bother you. But your boyfriend is about to see you naked, and you can’t help but feel a little self-conscious about how curvy your body looks, without clothing to hide behind.

You take a deep breath, and turn around.

All the air leaves you in a punched-out rush, leaving you feeling dazed and stunned.

Jake English is lying languidly on your bed, naked and practically _glowing_ with sex, one hand behind his head and the other slowly stroking his extremely hard dick, his brilliant green eyes roving over you with an appreciative look. He spreads his legs invitingly as you meet his gaze, tilting his chin in a ‘come-hither’ motion.

The mad scramble you make to get up onto the bed and in between his knees is maybe a _tad_ undignified, but who gives a flying fuck.

You toss the lube and condoms aside, bending over him to capture his mouth in a searing kiss. You settle your hands on his hips and squeeze, grinding your dildo against his dick in the movement and pressing your chests together. Jake moans loudly at the feeling, and you feel a surge of pride.

When you break off the kiss, both of you are panting heavily, and for a while you just watch his sparkling green eyes watching you behind his glasses.

Then Jake reaches towards your face, touching your shades. “Can I—?”

You honestly kind of forgot you were still wearing them. In some ways, the thought of taking off your shades makes you feel more naked than removing your binder and underwear. Still, you nod, and suck in a quiet breath as Jake reverently pulls them off, folds them, and sets them on your bedside table.

Then he just _stares_ at you, a slow smile spreading over his face. “God,” he says, quietly. “I could just about get lost in those eyes.”

You duck your head almost instinctively, pressing your forehead to his collarbone, feeling your face flush.

“That’s corny as fuck, dude,” you say, trying desperately not to giggle with nerves and embarrassment.

“It’s true,” he counters, his hands settling on your waist, just over the straps of your harness.

You school your face into control, and sit back on your heels, staring down at Jake’s delicious, _tantalizing_ body. “So, are we doing this, or what?” you say. You blindly reach a hand behind you to grab the bottle of lube.

Jake nods. “How do you want me?”

You cock your head. “Hands and knees?” you suggest. “I know it’s not as romantic, or whatever, but it’s easier to line things up.”

And considering you have literally zero experience fucking someone with a strap-on, you need all the fucking help you can get.

Jake flips over onto his stomach, and then you get a nice, close-up view of his absolutely spectacular ass. You can’t resist giving it a good squeeze a few times as you uncap the lube and warm some up between your fingers.

Then you slide down to probe at his hole, desperately hoping that you won’t seem completely ignorant. You know how to finger someone, you’ve fingered yourself a number of times, you know how it works. At least, in theory.

Jake sighs, relaxes into your touch, and it’s surprisingly easy to slip a finger into that heat, his body opening up for you like it’s been prepared.

Because it has been.

“Did you— did you prep yourself for me?” you say. Your own slick feels like it’s practically drooling down your legs, and you feel a warm rush of heat in your core at the thought of Jake shoving himself on his own fingers in the shower before your date, getting his body ready for _you._

Jake nods. “Yeah. You should probably open me up a bit anyway, but I figured neither of us would want to wait.”

You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve _him._

Soon, you’re pumping two, and then three fingers into him, and Jake keeps moaning and gasping wantonly at your touch. He probably doesn’t need all three fingers— you didn’t get a particularly large dildo for your harness— but he moans so happily when you spread him, and all you really want is to make _him_ feel good.

Eventually, you lean over him, pressing your chest to his back so you can lick his neck and whisper into his ear, “You ready for my cock, babe?”

Jake nods enthusiastically, so you thrust your hips forward and into him.

That is, you end up thrusting the dildo between his ass cheeks, because you got the angle wrong and missed his hole.

You attempt to play it off like you _meant_ to do that, teasing him or something, while desperately reaching down to grab the silicone cock and align it properly. This time, when you press in, you get it right.

Jake grunts when you enter him, and you freeze up, your heart thudding wildly in your chest. “You okay?” you ask, petting his stomach comfortingly.

“Little bit deep there, chap,” he says, pleasantly. “Not a great angle.”

“Shit, sorry.” Your face aflame, you pull back out, try to find a better angle. When you enter this time, you go a bit more slowly.

Jake sighs, deeply, and you bite your lip in worry.

“Good? Bad?” you say, and you think your nervousness and desperation is audible in your voice.

“Good,” Jake says. “You can go a bit faster there, if you want.”

So you bite your lip, and begin to thrust, pushing the dildo in and out of Jake’s body with your hips.

Sometimes he grunts, tells you to go a little less hard or not so deep, but after a bit you’ve figured out how to hit his prostate with some amount of consistency, and he starts practically writhing on the sheets, chanting out your name in fevered tones.

You just keep thrusting and grinding. God you love seeing Jake get so excited, you love doing this to him— even if you’re not getting nearly as much stimulation as your throbbing clit demands from you. That’s okay, though. This isn’t about you. This is about giving Jake the ride of his fucking life.

After a few minutes, your thighs have started shaking from the unaccustomed strain. You grit your teeth and muscle through the growing aches, because Jake is still clearly enjoying himself beneath you, groaning loudly.

“Oh, fuck, yes, Dirk,” he moans, and you watch as he reaches down to grip his dick and begin stroking himself. “Fuck, fuck, yes, right there, just like that.”

You do your best to hit that angle again, and consider maybe trying to jerk him off at the same time. On the one hand, you want to bring your boyfriend pleasure. On the other, you don’t think you’d be able to support yourself _and_ thrust your hips _and_ stroke his dick at the same time, so instead you settle for pounding into him, trying to use that exact same thrust to hit that exact same angle, over and over and over.

Jake’s words dissolve into incomprehensible _sounds_ , grunts and moans of delight, and fuck does that turn you on, make you wet as hell between the legs. You’re absolutely fucking _sloppy_ down there, watching as Jake gets closer and closer to his peak, pumping his dick in his hand faster and faster. You match the rhythm with your hips, eager to see—

And then Jake cries out loudly, throws his head back and goes rigid, his whole body tensing and coiling. You still inside him and watch with helpless arousal as Jake comes against your bedsheets, stripping his fingers over his dick as he rides through the aftershocks.

When he’s come down, a bit, you slip the dildo out of him, and he rolls over, away from his cum. He blinks bleary eyes up at you, and you shiver with lust at his fucked-out expression and the hooded eyes.

Unable to wait any longer, you unbuckle the harness, shoving it just down and out of the way enough so that you can access your cunt and clit. Your thighs tremble with exhaustion and you bend over yourself, stroking your fingers fast and hard over yourself, staring down at Jake’s satisfied expression.

Fuck, yes, faster, you pump your fingers back and forth, dipping in and out of your cunt but mostly just absolutely fucking _stripping_ your clit, circling the head like crazy. You can handle a _lot_ of direct pressure, and you pinch yourself slightly, between two fingers and jerk yourself off, squeezing every now and then and relishing the pain-pleasure sparking through you. Tension mounts and builds.

A second later, you gasp, feeling that wave of release roll through you as you reach your climax. You close your eyes and let the feeling take you, holding yourself up with one hand, continuing to stroke yourself in an attempt to keep it all building.

But then you are suddenly _way_ too sensitive, your clit retracting, and the stimulation stops feeling good and starts feeling like chafing. You sigh and pull your hand away from yourself, slightly disappointed at the less-than-epic orgasm but knowing that trying for anything more right now will just make you feel sore and miserable later.

Then Jake hums appreciatively, and you feel yourself flush hot all over, because you almost _forgot_ that Jake was here with you.

You’re actually probably pretty lucky that you forgot about it, because remembering that Jake is _here_ and _watching_ you masturbate gives you a sudden bout of performance anxiety that kills even the remotest possibility of having a second orgasm tonight. Not that you often have more than one a night.

You take a deep breath and sit back on your heels, suddenly feeling gross and sticky and very _aware_ of the fact that you are completely bare, your cunt and tits on full display. You squeeze your knees together self-consciously and turn your face to the side, feeling naked and vulnerable without even your shades to hide behind.

“I’m gonna go clean up,” you say, standing off the bed and clumsily working yourself out of your harness.

Jake makes a puzzled noise and sits up. “You want me to come with you?”

You shake your head and wave him off, turning away entirely so he can’t see the way you’re blushing. Shame courses through your body like the blood in your veins, and you kind of wish you could turn invisible.

“I’ll be right back,” you say, and abscond to the bathroom.


End file.
